


flowers

by verbatiim



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, Misgendering, POV Second Person, Self-Hatred, Trans Character, Trans Genji Shimada, Violence, character exposition, deadnaming, drowning (Mentioned), the death warning is just for genji bc u know. cyborg, the shimada clan sucks balls and here's why
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-05-15 02:18:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14781756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verbatiim/pseuds/verbatiim
Summary: You don’t remember being ruthless. That was always someone else’s job, someone else’s rage. What do you have to be upset for? A spoiled prince with endless wealth, a dragon sated in lakes of gold. You need nothing. You are selfish.





	flowers

Cherry blossom season rings in the birth of the second Shimada offspring. The first Shimada daughter. The elders snub her right away, noses turned up at the idea, the  _ insult _ ; what use is another child if not an heir? One son is not enough to secure an empire.

Haruhi, however, cherishes her. She spends days alone with her baby in illness, weak, sitting below falling sakura in the garden until the sun takes its leave. The petals drift onto the newborn’s head and she smiles. This will all be gone soon. On days that she cannot sit upright the darkness bleeds into the edges of her vision and she knows, they all do. No one dares take the child from her grasp.

They are together until the last breath. Misaki does not cry, not when Hanzo does or when the elders yell or when Sojiro takes her into his arms for the first time. Haruhi’s death is peaceful, expectant.

 

You remember none of this. It’s what your father told you, what your brother recalls in bits and pieces, but even he was too young to understand.

You don’t remember her face. You don’t remember how the garden looked before they had an impersonal hand tend it, you don’t remember the sakura on your skin the same way, you don’t remember the last time someone called you Kiki. Perhaps you don’t want to.

_ The disobedience must end somewhere. We can no longer tolerate this stain on our reputation. _

The back of your wrist meets your eyes, smears black across your temple. Tears. Pathetic. And for what?

_ You disrespect your family name, even the name your mother gave you. What would Haruhi think of this? _

You don’t know. Every time you look in the mirror you don’t  _ know _ and you are so  _ angry.  _ Haruhi is a name that has never meant anything to you, you never met her. What did she look like? Is it you? Is that why your father wept when you cut your hair, because the final remains of his wife were gone?

_ You are no Shimada son. No son at all, no chance at the throne. So why don’t you do as you are told? _

 

Be the quiet damsel they want, won’t you?

 

Misaki died when you were eleven. You pushed her into the koi pond and she drowned, no witnesses.

That is how you like to imagine it, anyway. A sadistic smirk makes itself at home on your pallid face as you change. Or masochistic, perhaps. Killing that girl was supposed to make you feel better, wasn’t it? And how do you feel now?

It takes fifteen minutes with trembling hands to tape your fingers. Remove your shoes. The room is cold and dark with lack of use, but the guard that stands at the center still sweats. Maybe you’ll pay him extra for this. The first blow you take is at his head. Maybe not.

You don’t remember being ruthless. That was always someone else’s job, someone else’s rage. What do you have to be upset for? A spoiled prince with endless wealth, a dragon sated in lakes of gold. You need nothing. You are selfish.

But the fight is never half-hearted. Fists of full power connect with unarmoured flesh, brutal noises for uncalculated movements, and he could take you down if he wanted to. You’re open. Sloppy. One sweep at the ankles and you would be nothing more than a doormat for the grunt to wipe his feet on, but he stands braced for the onslaught.

Only twenty more minutes pass and you begin to cry again. You break the guard’s nose and send him away. Another will be stationed outside your room in the morning, another will escort you to breakfast, another will deny you a driver into the city, another will take your punches tomorrow night.

 

Your life will continue in circles.

 

Sojiro was killed four years ago, and you wonder when your time will come. It will be peaceful, expectant. You are next. The thought plagues your mind more often than not, and eventually you will stop weeping over it. When the day arrives, perhaps.

Scalding water is all that you can shower with to feel clean, scrubbing off dirt and even skin, tender chest screaming with the abuse until you are done. Scars never healed right, secretive and uncared for properly and maybe you shouldn’t have them at all. Maybe Kiki deserved to live. You glance in the mirror for the second time that night and you recognize yourself, whether you want to or not.

Your hair still holds onto bleached ends from when it was green, from when you were sixteen and ignoring the sadness that hung heavy in your stomach. Things were easier like that. Parties with fake IDs and fake friends, and even now, things would be easier if it weren’t for your name. If you weren’t a Shimada. You look at your clean skin, makeup gone. Your face, your arms. Your flat chest. There’s something like pride inside you, underneath it all, for making it this far.

 

You are nineteen and you are vindictive.

 

It never lasts long. But the cool air feels good on your over-warmed skin, and the dim lanterns hanging around the garden make the night feel calm. Times like these must be why Haruhi loved it so. Why she sat outside for hours, doing nothing but creating life, why she named you after the flowers she grew here.

It’s cherry blossom season again. You can’t help but think of her, as unattached as you are. She gave you this life and sacrificed her own in return. No malintent, no expectations, only love. Your eyes are wet as you seat yourself on an older bench, smiling.

“I don’t know if you know me,” you breathe, watery and wavering. The wind seems to still as you talk into the emptiness. “I don’t know if you are… disappointed. I tried to be good.” Shaking. Your whole body quivers, grin only growing as you toss the hair out of your eyes and cry again. “I know you loved her, hahaue, but I can’t…”

“Genji?”

A harsh sob rips itself from your chest.  _ I’m not her daughter.  _ And you want to scream, but your knuckles only curl against the wood beneath you. Everything hurts so much, so often. You didn’t ask for this. Do you deserve it? What have you done to be awarded such a punishment in this life? Hanzo approaches slowly, tying his hair into a knot on top of his head.

“It’s late, you know.”

“Yes,” stuttered on an exhale. You know. You thought you would be alone.

“Everyone has been looking for you. We had plans for your birthday, do you remember?”

 

You remember. You remember you remember you remember.

 

And you nod, head hung between your shoulders and eyes stinging, snotty sniffles like perhaps you are still eleven. No one was looking for you. Just Hanzo. Maybe Katashi, but even that is a stretch. He likes you for your money and your drugs and your body.

“Are you crying, brother?” He asks, not mean. You nod again. Slide down the bench, make room for your aniki, because you know he won’t leave you out here. “I take it the meeting was not enjoyable.”

_ Sojiro came to your defense time and time again, and now you want to manipulate the young master into doing the same. No longer. Hanzo will not keep us from punishing you. _

Your silence is taken into consideration, somewhat respected for once. That meeting was three days ago. Nothing has felt right, you’ve not had the words for it. What do you say, when you are blamed for simply existing?

_ Think upon your actions, Misaki. If you would like to remain under the clan’s good graces, we ask only for an apology. You are a woman now, you have responsibilities. _

Hanzo pushes back your damp hair as he sits. It catches behind your ear, held back by something thin. Delicate. You reach up to take it and squint blearily at the flower between your fingers.

“They want,” you hiccup. The stem complains as you twist it around your knuckles, clutch it in your palm. “I  _ can’t _ \--”

“They have never liked change.”

“It’s been  _ eight years _ ! Chichi died because of me, they won’t get it!”

“Quiet,” and he still isn’t angry, but he hisses with fear in his voice. Hanzo has always been afraid. For different reasons, things he won’t tell you, things he says you will never begin to understand. “Do you think father would want you to act like this?” You shake your head, violent. “What is your name?”

“Shimada.” It’s a bitten, pathetic whisper.

“What is  _ your _ name?”

“Genji.”

“Genji. The youngest son of Sojiro, second heir to the Shimada clan. It says so in chichiue’s will. They cannot change that.” A deep sigh pulls itself from Hanzo’s chest, and it holds the weight of centuries of grief. He is too old for his body. Has too many better things to worry about. “They say these things to upset you. They want you to be angry, to further rebel. They want reason to get rid of you.”

 

Get rid of you.

 

Your lungs constrict on a laugh, panicked, because this is it. This is confirmation. You are going to die.

“Let them get rid of me.” You stand and throw the flower into the koi pond, a gift for Misaki. She’ll need it. “I will come back for them.”

“You’re speaking nonsense.”

“Evil cause, evil effect.”

Hanzo rolls his eyes, but he, too, rises. He leads you to your room, dismisses the guard without worry that you’ll leave. And maybe you will. You don’t know it at that very moment, but this is your last year. Soon, Shimada Misaki will be truly dead. She will have died in her sleep, tragically, no witnesses. Not twenty years old. The clan will release a statement, of course. She was buried next to her mother. Haruhi can be with her flower again.

You will be angrier than you are now. You will know nothing of yourself but pain, agony. People will call you Genji the first time, not the fourth, fifth,  _ it’s just hard to remember, Kiki,  _ sixth. And you’ll ask yourself, was it worth it? Are you the man you always dreamt of?

Your brother’s face will plague your nightmares. Mechanical parts will replace your limbs. Sakura will be a foreign sight until many years in the future.

 

Even then, you don’t know.

**Author's Note:**

> this is a super specific headcanon and i'm sorry if it doesn't make a lot of sense or feels disjointed? i just really needed to write about it ah
> 
> feel free to ask me questions about it on my tumblr || http://g0thji.tumblr.com


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